


Through All The Pain Your Eyes Stayed Blue

by Eisenschrott



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Injury, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisenschrott/pseuds/Eisenschrott
Summary: War-battered Max Veers and his wife share a moment of intimacy in words and deeds.





	

Eliana woke up in the dark to the rustle of wind and the first shy raindrops tapping on the windowpane. Her mind ran through all the windows in the house, the one in Zev’s bedroom especially—all closed, yes, she’d made sure of that. She’d made a mental note at work after browsing the planetside meteorological reports, in-between reviewing the latest soil erosion data.

A Human and male noise, huffing, nearby on the bed, startled her. Then a whisper velvety with sleep, “Eli?”

“Max. I’m awake.”

“I know. I was awake too. I felt you stir.”

She felt his own movement, a stiff crawling up the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just oversensitive.”

“Don’t apologise, laser-brain.” Eliana reached out to the nightstand and switched on the low-brightness lamp. In the amber glow appeared the half-kicked down bedsheet, criss-crossed by the sharp lines the laundry droid had ironed onto it. Her legs disappeared under it, and so did Max’s, but his knees stuck out, his blue boxers above, the unhurt hand curled over his belly. Eliana didn’t dare look further up to the bandages.

She turned to lie on her right side and looked at his face instead. Flat on his back, shoulders against the padded headboard, he was squinting in the light, but returned her gaze with a faint smile. “Are you in pain?” she asked. “Was that why you weren’t sleeping?”

“No.” He blinked, turned his hooded eyes to the window. “Yes. A bit. But I’m fine now. Oh, bummer, it’s raining.” He pause and took in a careful, slow breath. His voice was ever so slightly thinner when he spoke again, “The youngest goddess, Yllnaten, fought with her sisters and ran away from home in a temper tantrum; now she’s cold and hungry and wants in to a warm place. Doesn't the parable go like that?”

Eliana’s mother appreciated that _dear Maximilian_ referred to the Three Goddesses’ lore as ‘parables’ rather than legends or stories or, worst of all, fairy tales. “Maxie, changing the topic has the opposite effect of putting me at ease.”

The rain pitter-pattered at a soft but steadying rhythm. Max took in another careful breath, and blew it out his nostrils in a huff of impatience. Eliana didn’t blame him.

“I’m not in pain,” he said. “Just bothered. You know. I can’t move well, can’t hold you with just one arm. Remember when you sprained your ankle doing warm-up exercises that time at the pool?”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“Well, didn’t it mightily piss you off not being able to swim or move well? Even doing the simple things,” he paused to gather another bit of breath, “like walking?”

“Yes, it pissed me off. But that was...” She glanced at the bandages wrapping Max’s chest; icy raindrops ran down her spine under the cotton sleepshirt. “...just a sprained ankle. A bit of bacta, two days’ rest, and it was over.” Whereas Max’s injuries wouldn’t be healed yet by the time his leave ran out. Eliana forced herself not to recall the number of days left.

Max bent his left arm and brushed his knuckles over her chest. His hand lingered between her tits, cupping the top one. Caught under the gentle, rubbing pressure of his thumb, her nipple hardened through the fabric. Her heart beat faster; sleep washed away with the growing drumbeat of rain and the rumble of windswept treetops.

“I don’t want to go back to the frontlines,” he said. Then the rest of the phrase stabbed her deep in her ribcage, “Not without making love to you even just once.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I can touch myself.”

He cocked his eyebrow, giving her the patented Veers Look of Sardonic Disbelief that Zev proved to have inherited whenever he questioned something in his Imperial History schoolbook. “Nonsense, dear. The only thing you dislike more than touching yourself is the sweet toska rice I make.”

She pinched his long nose. “Bollocks. I told you it was a bit overcooked and undersalted, not that I disliked it.”

His healthy arm snaked around her waist, his big hand firm on her hip. Even hurt, Max was strong enough to pull her towards him like she had no weight, and steer her to straddle him. Her own faint wetness brushed the lump on his crotch, still soft.

He puffed, and fixed on her a serious gaze. What had gotten him wounded had also gotten him promoted to major, so he’d become very good at making a stern and serious face. Eliana stared down at the bandages, taking them all in, the ones wrapping his chest and those around his upper arm; they didn’t scare her much right now. What she wanted was to melt that seriousness off Max’s face.

He lay both hands on her thighs and massaged them slowly, reaching a little further up under the hem of her sleepshirt at each pass. If moving the injured arm bothered him, he didn’t show it.

It offended her that he didn’t show pain, the kind of offence that sparks a challenge. So Eliana took the hand of his injured arm under her shirt, where his fingertips already brushed her navel. She brought the hand up to her mouth and kissed the leathery-skinned knuckles.

Max’s nostrils flared, his cock poked a bit stiffer between her legs. He didn’t protest yet. From under fluttering eyelids, he watched as she drew her tongue over his knuckles, then took in half of his forefinger, his middle finger resting on her upper lip, and sucked. She didn’t hear herself making any noise in the rumble of the rain and wind, but she did hear well Max’s responsive hiss. A first hot throb shot through her cunt; the skin under her sleepshirt and on her arms itched pleasantly.

His free hand moved upwards and raised her sleepshirt. He stopped at her tits and gave a hard squeeze followed by hard kneading. She arched her back into the touch, tilting her head over her shoulder; her jaw hung slack with Max’s fingers still on her mouth. The beat of her heart under his greedy hand and the sound of the rain were one and the same. She let herself be stimulated until a tremble in Max’s hips warned her he was tired of her weight over his stiffy. She closed her lips over his forefinger one last time and slid them back before releasing with a pop. Max’s arm fell flat on the mattress, and he gasped a few times.

“Are you okay?” Eliana asked as she whipped her sleepshirt off and threw it aside.

His eyes went wide and he stopped breathing for a few rain-filled, heavy-lidded seconds. He swallowed and something of the whimper he must have been pushing back seeped through. “Touch me, please,” he said.

Eliana sat up on her haunches. The air was cool on her cunt and the wetness that must be both hers and Max’s. While he purred in relief she crouched forward over his massacred chest, still not touching it, hair dangling over her cheeks like blood dripping at the edge of her vision. “Where, exactly?”

“Where—where I’m hurt.”

Blood rushed to her face. Or drained from it. Whatever, the sensation left her dizzy. “Are you crazy?”

Two iron paws clutched her hands. They seemed so tiny and frail in Max’s. He placed them palm-down on his pecs, over the centre of the bandage. Gingerly. She couldn’t hear him breathe in, but she felt his chest inflate. Then he pressed her hands over the bandage.

Eliana tried to yank her hands back, but his hold was unbreakable despite his gritted teeth, his shut eyes, his arched neck, and that sharp nostril-flaring hiss again. The bandage was warm, as smooth and soft as the cotton of her sleepshirt.

“Like... like this,” Max whimpered. “This is the strongest you can get. Please, no stronger than this.”

“Maxie—”

“Touch me again. Please. Please. Please.”

She applied a light, shaky pressure. Max exhaled a moan. A little harder. He moaned louder and writhed. In his motion, the tip of his cock poked at the inside of her thigh. Eliana tried to steady her hands, to no avail. The tremor had seized her whole body, in and outside. The muscles in her cunt contracted in anticipation; she felt hot and sweaty under her armpits and breasts, where the nipples stood dark-red and hard like sein jewels. Her shaky touch slid along the bandage, to the sides of Max’s pecs, those little spots that loved being fondled.

Max squirmed at the first pressure and let out a strained grunt. His fists balled up onto the bedsheet. Eliana pressed harder, teased the nipples under the bandage. He tossed his head about, tongue lolling out of his beautiful big mouth, sweat beading his forehead and flush spreading to his skin. Eliana realised she was smiling, drinking up that sight of lust and surrender. This was what Yllnaten must experience when the gale razed to the ground the houses that dared not let her in. She dug in the heels of her hands, deep and hard into where the bandage hid the ripples of the serratus anterior.

The grunt exploded out of Max’s throat into a ragged cry. His injured arm shot down and Eliana stiffened against a coming push, but his hand just reached for the front of his pants. She lowered her eyes and watched him free himself and pump. The back of his hand tapped against her swollen, frustratingly dressed labia. It outraged her it wasn’t deliberate and he didn’t bother to tear her panties off. She spread her right hand over Max’s heart, a raw and pounding spot like if whatever shot had wounded Max had left no flesh and no skin between his innards and the bandage. Eliana felt like the goddess again. Holding a raincloud in her palm. She pressed putting in a bit of her body weight, not just the strength of her arm. Max cried out again and bucked so hard his forehead almost banged on hers. He fell back against the headboard. Tears were glistening at the corners of his eyes.

Eliana knew she should worry and be afraid. Stop everything and be tender. Let him rest. But no storm goddess ever worried or became afraid; she raged and raged and destroyed so long as it pleased her fury. The smile was wide and wild, intoxicating like spice on her lips. The storm was in her blood, roaring in her ears and clawing with want under her panties.

As soon as Max raised a submissive look of slack-jawed submission to her, she grabbed his hand that was stroking his cock. It was hot, slick and twitchy there. Watching the motion of his meaty bandaged upper arm, she shoved his long fingers inside the waistband of her panties. Fingertips brushing through thick curly hair down the prominence to—

“Mo-om?”

Everything froze, save for the storm.

Eliana dropped heavily on Max’s thighs. He huffed, but had enough quickness of mind left to throw the bedsheet his healthy hand had been holding fast to over her shoulders.

“Go back to sleep, boy,” Max croaked, yet he managed to produce a gentle tone.

“Mom, I heard dad shout. Is he okay?”

Without thinking, because thinking would have killed her from the embarrassment, Eliana glanced over the crumpled sheet that hung precariously to her shoulder. Zev was on the doorway, leaning against the frame, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his pyjama. She knew the gesture. It meant he was very sleepy.

“Dad was a bit sore in his bones,” Eliana staggered out of the realm of storms and goddesses. “Because it’s so cold and wet tonight. So I was giving him a massage. Go back to sleep, Zevvie.”

“’kay.” He didn’t even stop rubbing his eyes. He wobbled away from the door, which slid back shut. It was raining hard and of course Eliana had been too distracted to notice the quiet sliding noise when it had opened. She kept staring at the closed door as tarry guilt pooled in her throat and dripped chilly on her back.

“Hey.” A tug at the waistband of her panties. “Can I...?” A loud breath. “If you still want.”

The rain and the wind battered the windows. The fast-running raindrops streaked down the pane like star trails upon entering hyperspace. It was just a storm. There was no goddess. Eliana sure wasn’t one. Despite the shame, she was aching with desire. She stood on the bed, whipped off her wet panties, and kneeled back down over Max’s crotch, carefully, letting him ease his turgid length in until she was sitting on his hipbones and just the sensation of him inside her made her body sway and her eyes roll backwards.

Max grunted and gave a thrust, weak for what Eliana knew he could do. She rolled along or was rolled along, it didn’t matter. His cock had an upwards bent and touched right away her most sensitive little spot deep down inside, and her muscles clenched tight and released him and clenched again in response and in demand for more, for it to be harder.

As if he feared she might fall off while he rolled his hips and ground into her, he grasped onto her flanks, thumbs digging into her abdomen. She gasped in pain but he didn’t let go. She didn’t make him let go. He only did when she rocked forwards down enough for his injured hand to grope at her tits. His eyes were shut, the hand was doing everything by itself and did it rough, all the way up to her shoulder and her neck and down again to the sweat-slick bobbing breasts. His cock shuddered inside her, in time with his thrusts; her innards, her very core, were being shaken and molten to lava, like the morning Zev was born before the nurse droid sedated her. The stimuli at so many different ends of her wanting body tore her apart.

She panted and he moaned, quieter than before. One instant when her vision was clear of loose hair and loose arousal, she saw he was biting onto the pillow.

The next instant her hands were splayed over his chest bandage. Just a light pressure.

Max bucked so hard she was almost thrown off. He held her in place by one tight fist on her right hip and the other squeezing her left tit. She clenched herself the tightest over him, and then there was that wonderful sharp killing stab and the rolling wave of overwhelming bliss. The rain and its all-encompassing noise. Dampness and warmth and the feathery tingle of Max shooting his come, hips thrust forward.

Spent, they gaped at each other and gathered breath in the shape of hazy smiles. Always carefully, Eliana rose and slipped Max’s drenched, softened cock out of her entrance.

“You look so happy,” he murmured. “But... but I wasn’t very good.”

She curled up next to him, fondling his tired member. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder, but his injured arm would get in the way. “Know what feels really good? Being gentle with you.”

He laughed and that made him cough. “You call being gentle...?” He pointed at his chest bandage. “...this last thing you did to me?”

“Well, you’d asked for it. You like it when I’m gentle and you like it when I break you. Joke’s on you, laser-brain.”

There was no comeback for what felt like hours and the clock on the nightstand insisted were a few standard minutes. Rain, wind, low golden light, silence, their smell. Max’s was a bit off; the citrus sweetness of bacta mixed in with his familiar, animal sweat. He smiled on and had not opened his eyes since the lovemaking.

“Eli,” he said at one point, still without opening his eyes. “You mind—the sheet?”

“Sure.” She was getting a bit cold herself, what with not being able to snuggle him. She pulled the bedsheet over both of them, ridiculously careful when she draped it over his chest.

“Eli?” The smile had waned.

Eliana frowned. “Yeah?”

“Do you think tonight we just...? Oh, to the ninth hell with cowardice. Are you on birth control?”

Eliana held her breath, as if the rain were a sea she was about to dive into. “Yeah.”

“I understand. I... I’m not trying to blame you. I know it’s not a good idea now. I was just wondering.”

“Are you going to leave the Army anytime soon?”

“No!”

They would have to have this conversation sooner or later, anyway. Better now that it was pouring outside and he was wounded and in no condition to leave. “Well. You see my point. It’s tough enough on Zev, Maxie. Adding other children to the situation would be cruel.”

“I know. I know. But once the war is over...”

“Maxie, if you’re going to give me the _war will be over before Life Day_ shtick again, please remember that my faith doesn’t celebrate Life Day.”

His mouth hung open for a few seconds. His shut-eyed face turned sad. “I talk like my own propaganda holos, don’t I? Hate it when I do.”

“Good for you I love you, then.” Eliana found his hand under the sheet. Their fingers entwined.

“I’d kiss you if I could move.”

“Hang on, I got this.” She craned her neck over his injured arm and he turned to receive her lips on his. It was a surface kiss, dry and smacking.

“I don't know when it will be over,” he whispered. His warm breath stroked her face. “I’m so sorry.”

It wasn’t a comfortable position for Eliana, but she didn’t move. Her face close to Max’s, her eyes closed, the smell of her husband and his wounds in her nostrils.

“Promise me it _will_ be over.”

Max chuckled softly. Or tiredly. “I and the rest of the Empire will ensure that.”

“Promise me we will make a lot of babies then.”

“I will ensure that, definitely.”

“Promise me you’ll be there to raise them.”

“Oh, I’ll be around all the time and I promise I’ll spoil them rotten.”

“And—promise me you won’t get killed before it’s over.” She was scared of her question after uttering it. But to the ninth hell with cowardice.

Silence. Rain. Wind howling. The elder goddesses calling their little sister home. The hoot of a gale-owl gliding overhead. Sent to tell her the sisters were looking for her. Why wouldn’t the whole galaxy just heed the call, let the storm abate, come home for good?

“I promise,” Max whispered. The hand of his injured arm squeezed Eliana’s hand, feebly for how strong she knew Max could be, but it was the strongest he could hold onto her now.

She shifted back down under the blanket, where the noise of the gale was muffled and the air was warm and smelled of their bodies and bacta. It weighed her eyelids down. From several parsecs away already, she thought she heard Max, “You still awake? Eli?”

Over the pitter-pattering rain, she didn’t hear herself answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Title credit goes to [_Your Love Alone (Is Not Enough)_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fpQod_lLIB0) by Manic Street Preachers. Inspiration credit goes to Ernest Hemingway, I suppose.


End file.
